We have a crooked tree this year.
Through no fault of its own.
I sort of love it.
It feels right, just as it should.
Tilting to the right, with no risk of tipping over, it takes the pressure for perfection out of the equation.
That’s me, letting out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Much better.
Yes, I rather like our crooked tree.
A Fraser Fir, a real one.
With an angel at the very top.
Countin’ down to Christmas morning…
Hoping the children sleep in…
at least until six something.
When they awake they’ll come down the stairs to look for presents with their name on them.
Even crooked trees are present magnets.
They charm you, like lopsided grins.
I do believe The Christmas Spirit found me, somewhere along the way this December.
I am thankful for that too.


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